place. And you definitely shouldnât be doing hard punches.
Thatâs the trouble with boxers . Black eyes are definitely their own fault.
Unless, I suppose, youâre a boxer whoâs walked into a lamp post, with a kaleidoscope.
Anyway, Mum said Fiona Tucker was a very lucky girl, because if sheâd taken my kaleidoscope to the seaside, she might have walked off a cliff with it and fallen miles down into the sea or onto the rocks. Then sheâd have had a lot more than a black eye. Sheâd have had two black eyes at least.
And anyway, Fionaâs dad said heâd buy me a new one. But he hasnât yet.
But he said he would.
. . .
Sometimes, like for instance when Iâve been told off, I wish I had a dad.
Trouble is, I havenât.
. . .
My dad is dead.
. . .
Because he died.
When I was little.
The trouble with not having a dad because he died when you were little is sometimes I wonder what he was like.
Mum says my dad was the best dad in the world, but he would still have told me off if Iâd been naughty.
I suppose he definitely would have told me off if Iâd eaten a germy dib-dab.
But I canât remember.
Thatâs the trouble with not being little any more . You canât remember.
. . .
However hard you try, you just canât remember.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
And your clothes stop fitting.
Apart from your socks, âcos socks are stretchy.
The trouble with growing is your favourite clothes donât grow with you.
A year ago, my favourite yellow T-shirt used to come down right over my belly button, but it doesnât any more. Neither does my disco top with the stars on.
Mum says Iâll be borrowing her clothes soon!
Another trouble with growing is the saddle on your bike wonât go up any higher either. Gabby got a new bike for her last birthday so her legs look normal when she rides.
My legs look silly on my bike because my knees go too high when I turn the pedals. So I donât ride my bike much any more.
My mum got some spanners out of the garage last week and tried to make my saddle go right up as high as it would go, but when she pulled the saddle up, it came right off the bike! Then it took us ages to get it back on. So now I just leave my bike in the garage.
Mum says if Iâm good, I can have a new second-hand bike for my next birthday.
Trouble is, my birthday isnât for three whole months.
Last year I got a remote control car for my birthday. It was white.
To start off with.
The trouble with remote control cars is they donât do as they are told.
If you try and make them go one way, they go the other, plus if you drive them through muddy puddles, they conk out.
Mum says I shouldnât have driven my car through a puddle. She says it makes the battery wet. Thatâs the trouble with batteries . They donât like getting wet.
When I brought my car indoors, she said, âOH DAISY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOUâVE ONLY HAD IT TWO MINUTES! ITâS A CAR, DAISY, NOT A HOVERCRAFT. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING OF?â
I said submarines.
Mum said, âGO AND FETCH THE PAPER TOWELS.â
After we dried the battery, it still didnât work, so Mum said she would take it back to the shop and complain.
So she did. But that didnât work either because the man behind the counter didnât believe what Mum said.
PUDDLES! WHAT PUDDLES?â said my mum. âThis car hasnât been anywhere near a puddle! IT HASNâT EVEN BEEN OUT OF DOORS!â
The man said we must have a very swampy carpet because when he opened the boot and shook it, dirty water came out all over his jumper.
I donât do remote control driving any more. I just do parking. Which isnât anywhere near as much fun.
Luckily, Gabby says I can have lots of fun on her new bike, as long as I promise not to fall off and bend the wheels. Or drink all the drink in her drinks